White and Black
As dawn took flight, a dove
sat on its nest, preening its feathers but flying nowhere.
From afar an arrow, heart-rending, flew and struck its breast,
proof of the rewards of sarcasm.
Wings and feathers shattered, its body weak,
Hope cut off at the root and veins torn open.
At nightfall, a crow passed by the nest
When it saw the dove in agony, the crow became a doctor.
It removed the arrow and built the dove a shelter,
taking great pains to ease the pain of its patient.
The crow struggled mightily until the windows and roof
were covered with green leaves.
It stole water from the brook and carried it in its beak.
The crow made its way to the garden and plucked fruit from the branches.
At times, a father, at times, a mother, and at times, a guardian,
the crow fed the dove, caressed it, and listened to its complaints.
The crow carried this heavy burden until one day
his patient cast off pain and weariness.
The dove said to the crow, “What relation has black with white?
Who has asked you to come to the aid of strangers?”
The crow answered, “Our intentions are one and the same,
There is no difference between the service of black and white.
Within you, as with me, beats a tiny heart,
I, like you, have a body made of sinew and veins.
One must be pure in speech and a true companion;
What matter whether we be friends of old, or just met?
Never approach in ignorance those who suffer ;
In times of need, do not creep off into a corner of the house to hide.
If the goal is to strive to open the lock of happiness,
what matter whether the key is gold or iron?”